Dear Mother, Tomorrow is the day. Just think of it! Tomorrow I will be in America! Everyone is talking about how much opportunity and dreams coming true and hope awaits us there. No one cares if you’re Christian or Jewish, Italian or German, people say. Once we’re there, we’ll be free! I guess that for most of the people here, that’s true. But for me, there’s really no opportunity or dreams coming true or hope. As soon as I get off this ship, I’m going to Huntington Station and boarding an orphan train. I should be happy. Maybe someone will adopt me. Then I’ll finally have a family, finally have someone who loves me. But you’re in France, Mother. The whole time I was in the orphanage, I was hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’d show up at the doorstep and take me. I’d jump into your arms, and we’d hug each other, and you’d swear you’d never leave me again. I had it all perfectly planned out. That hope is gone now. I am in America; you are in France. The Atlantic Ocean is big, Mother, far bigger than you can imagine. It doesn’t matter anymore whether or not you really are dead like everybody says you are. We will never meet again. Your loving daughter, Amélie * * * Dear Mother, Sara insists that I should learn English. She learned it, and she said it was easy as could be. I know that English is the language they speak in America, and that it would help me ever so much if I were able to speak it. But my tongue refuses to learn that language. It is ever so confusing, and I always forget to put adjectives before nouns instead of after. Sara is a friend I made on this ship. If she were going on an orphan train, she wouldn’t have to worry a single bit. She has silky hair, deep blue eyes, and is very pretty. She also has a talent for thinking quickly, something I’m not quite good at. We were talking about the smell of the sea when suddenly there was a loud honk hink honk. A boat was docking next to us. A few people with white coats stepped out, ready to inspect our ship. People started running all around, tripping over each other, all running toward the rails, as if in a hurry to jump overboard. I had no clue what was happening, so I told Sara, “Come on! Let’s go check it out!” After falling over and being trampled a few times, we sat on a box of old ship things, the only place where we could find room. Then we saw it. I had heard about it, a gift from France to the USA, but never had I thought it would look like this. The Statue of Liberty. People were cheering, crying, going down on their knees and praying. A person was talking to our captain, Captain Santelli. “S.S. La Gascogne, cleared to go!” said the person. We were put on a ferry going towards some island. And that is all I can write now, Mother. I’ll try to write more soon. Your loving daughter, Amélie * * * Dear Mother, I thought that as soon as I got off the ferry, I would be in America. That’s why, even though Sara was speechless, gazing at Lady Liberty behind us, I was sitting and looking at my train tickets. “Think you’re going straight off to America?” someone asked. I jolted. What was that person talking about? “We have to go through Ellis Island, you know,” he spoke again. He was dressed in rags, and he looked like a younger version of how I imagined my father would look. “Pardon me?” I asked. I had heard about it, but never had I thought it would look like this “It’s where all the steerage goes before they come to America. They inspect us and make sure we’re good to enter.” He attempted to scratch out the dirt from underneath his fingernails. “I found out from people on board.” I tried to remember where I knew this person from. “I don’t remember seeing you before…” I said. He suddenly turned red, then purple, then white, then green, and finally back to a normal face color. “I… umm… well… you probably never noticed me… I’m sure that’s it…” He coughed. “If I tell you a secret, will you promise not to tell anybody?” he asked me. I nodded. “Well…” he paused for a moment, as if deciding whether or not to say this, “I was a stowaway.” I gasped. “I’m turning eighteen tomorrow,” he said. “I wanted to get away from my family, start a new life in America. But I didn’t have any money, so I snuck aboard.” I was frozen. “I hid in the bilge and snuck food from the garbage cans of the first-class deck.” He looked sincerely at me when he was finished. “Please don’t tell anyone,” he said. Don’t worry. I won’t. * * * Dear Mother, I’m so sorry that I forgot to end my last letter. We had just arrived at Ellis Island, and so I had no time to sign my name. There were many people on the dock, as many people as the Atlantic Ocean was big. Never, ever had I imagined there would be so many people! Everyone was carrying their trunks, all trying their hardest in a race to get to freedom first. Me, I had no luggage, only my train ticket and what was on me. Slap! An officer walked up to me and pinned a tag on me, eyes full of concern, yet covered by a comfortable blanket of confusion. I was number 137. I wasn’t sure, Mother. Was that all I was, a number printed on a piece of paper? I guess I was, for I had nobody. Nobody to meet me once I got out of Ellis Island.
Historical
The Battle of Lake Trasimene
The first ray of sunlight crept up the Apennine mountain range in central Italy. Above the winding hills and jagged rocks, the bulk of the Carthaginian army was perched above Lake Trasimene, just below a higher cliff. Standing at the edge of the cliff, staring out toward Spain, stood a man. He was wearing a faded red tunic with leathery flaps hanging down at the waist. On his head, a brass helmet sparkled with a dull illumination, reflecting off Lake Trasimene which was below him, and coming back to him in dozens of vivid shapes. A sword was sheathed at his side and a dagger was belted to his waist. His eyes were deep and sorrowful. With his right hand he twisted his deep black beard. In his other hand he held a torch. His expression was cold and sullen. This man was the leader of the Carthaginian army, at the helm of the operation. He was the great war leader Hannibal. He was hoping, no, praying that Spain would remain in the hands of the Carthaginian government. His youngest brother Mago was running the operations in Spain at that time, hopelessly defending it against the sieging Roman legions that encamped all across its borders. From eastern Spain he started the huge trek through the dangerous Alps It was 217 BC, and Carthage, a North African empire and a world power at the time, was engaged in a struggle with the emerging Roman Empire. It was the second conflict between Carthage and Rome, known as the Second Punic War. Hannibal looked back at the sound of his men waking. He looked down again into Lake Trasimene, watching the mist rise from its cool, clear surface, and anxiously awaited his enemy’s arrival. After Hannibal’s father, Hamilcar Barca, was defeated by the Romans in the First Punic War, the Romans had been gloating in their success. Meanwhile, Hamilcar was trying to rebuild his military. However, Hamilcar was killed in battle. His successor, Hannibal’s brother-in-law, Hasdrubal, inherited the control of Spain. But after Hasdrubal’s assassination at the hands of a slave, Hannibal, who was next in line, took over. Not satisfied with Spain alone, he launched several campaigns for the purpose of recruiting mercenaries. He recruited cavalry and spearmen from Spain (which was where his brother Mago’s stronghold was located); cavalry and infantry from Gaul (modern France). He also recruited cavalrymen from Numidia, led by the great cavalry commander Maharbal, and slingers and pikemen from the Balearic Islands. Finally, with his huge army of 90,000 infantry, 12,000 cavalry, and 37 elephants, he was ready to begin his journey. From eastern Spain he started the huge trek through the dangerous Alps. The trip was costly. The harsh weather of the Alps made it difficult for Hannibal. When he finally made it through the Alps into Italy, his numbers equaled about 60,000 infantry, 6,000 cavalry, and most of his elephants had perished. But Hannibal was a brilliant leader, and with the troops he had, he remained in Italy for sixteen years, winning many major and minor battles. Significant among these was the Battle of Lake Trasimene. On the other side of Trasimene, Hannibal’s adversary, Flaminius, the arrogant newly elected Roman Consul, and his army were just now waking from the hard bunks in their temporary legionary base which they had constructed the night before. Legionaries were just now climbing out of the pitched tents and huts. After the legionaries woke, they would put on their thick red tunics. Then began the difficult process of putting on the plate armor. One legionary would help another strap his breastplate to his chest, and also strap on the arm protection and the leg armor. Thick leather embroidered with colored beads hung down from the waist to protect the groin. Then the legionaries would begin the grueling task of taking down base camp. Some would be assigned the task of pulling up the palisades, wooden shafts about three to four feet long with a sharp point at the end that surrounded the temporary legionary bases. Other legionaries took down and packed the tents. Finally, when the base was taken down, the legionaries would take their pilum (throwing javelin), buckle on the gladius (short sword), and strap their packs to their backs. Their packs contained palisades, utensils, rations, and personal items. Finally, after all the tasks were completed, after all the legionaries were accounted for, they began their trek through the tiny gap between Trasimene and the Apennine hills. The Roman army was now on the move. The legionaries, under Flaminius, marched toward Trasimene in search of Hannibal. Flaminius was unaware that he was walking into a trap. Waiting for him in the hills near Trasimene, Hannibal’s men were already strategically positioned to ambush Flaminius and his army. Line after line the Romans marched through, not suspecting that many eyes were watching them from above. The thought of VICTORY was the only thing on the legionaries’ minds as they moved on. Finally, the entrance of the pass was just now disappearing behind the last legionary. The time was now right for Hannibal to act. Out of the noise of clanking armor and humming Roman soldiers came the all too familiar sound of Gallic war cries. Horrible black shapes were now descending down the mountainside. Out of the darkness they came, into the light of the Roman torches, upon the extremely vulnerable Roman force. The torchlight revealed the forms of Gallic broad swords glistening in the moonlight, and also thousands of their wielders. A horde of Gauls charged down behind Flaminius and his army, blocking the only exit. More shouting and cursing from higher up could be heard. The mass of the Carthaginian army was now making itself known on the mountainside, spreading out and revealing its power. When Hannibal gave the order, it charged. As the Romans watched the enemy descend upon them, they noticed something. Out of the storm of swords and axes, sticking up out of the
Freedom
I was once a slave, but now I am a teacher. This is my story. The year is 1830, and I am twelve years old. I live on a plantation in South Carolina. I have no kin with me at this plantation. I was separated from my mother at age seven. She was sold to another master. Of the rest of my family I know nothing, except that there were others. At this time of my life I am changing and growing up. I hear whispers of slaves escaping and reaching the North to be free. Before my mother was taken from me, she made me promise that I would try in any way I could to make it up North. At the time I was very young and really did not know what she was talking about, but now I do. Over the years, I became a companion to the master’s daughter, Anna. When we played together, I learned how to read and write. She would be the teacher and I was the student. Reading and writing is forbidden to slaves and punishable by death. Therefore, it was our secret. Anna and I became very close, almost like sisters, and it was she who came upon the idea that I needed to escape and go up North. At that moment, shocked and scared by what she said, I knew she was right, because our game could no longer remain a secret. The seed of an idea was planted, and so Anna and I spoke in terrified whispers to plot how I was going to escape. For many nights, Anna and I talked about how I was going to leave. Tears would come to our eyes as we realized we would be separating, but Anna would always remind me that when she becomes an adult she would be able to travel and visit with me. That thought comforted the both of us. One night as I was drifting off to sleep I heard soft voices and whispers. Curious, I got up to see what was going on and saw shadows of slaves sneaking away toward the woods. I followed quietly, and when I reached the woods, I could see people sitting on the ground in a circle. In the middle of the circle was a black man holding a book, reading. I heard him say, “Jesus said to him, ‘I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.” His voice was gentle, but strong and sure. I began to feel comforted and excited because I began to think this might be the answer to my dilemma. I began to walk through the circle of people until I stood in front of him. The man looked at me and said, “To you, O Lord, I lift up my soul. O my God, I trust in You; let me not be ashamed; let not my enemies triumph over me.” The man closed the book and waited, watching me. With tears streaming down my face, I said, “It is time for me to go North” I reached out my hand and touched the book; with tears streaming down my face, I said, “It is time for me to go North.” The man placed his hand over mine and said, “So you shall.” Later that night the preacher and I talked and plotted about how I was going to escape. Finally, he told me I must go back and get my belongings and be ready to go the next night. Anna and I spent our last day together. We talked about my freedom and how brave I was. Anna gave me a locket with a flower engraved on the surface as a parting gift. I promised her I would send her a message when I was safe. As time passed, it became dark, and I drifted into the woods where I would meet the preacher. I walked until I spotted him. The evening air was still and damp. We began to run until we came to a river. The water was quiet with an occasional whoosh of sounds and sucking noises. At that moment, he told me that I was going to come to a field of crops, and there would be a white farmer waiting there. He gave me a little nudge and I stepped into the freezing water. I was on my way to freedom. When I crossed the river I ran faster and faster, fear catching in my throat, branches tearing at my face, legs and hands, until I came to a cornfield. I saw a white farmer and ran up to him. Placing his finger to his lips, he directed me to the bottom of the wagon. As I began the journey into the night, I fell into a fitful sleep. It seemed that all of a sudden the wagon stopped, causing me to awaken with a start. I had not slept deeply but rather I dozed fitfully, my mind still aware of the wagon moving over jutted ground, fear crowding my thoughts of what I was doing. The farmer directed me onto another wagon where I was covered with sacks. I never saw the face of my new friend. All I could think of was how cold and thirsty I was. How I had to hold my bladder and how unclean I felt. When the wagon came to a halt the driver pulled the sacks off me and lifted me out of the dust-filled wagon. Time blurred, days became nights and nights became days. My mind was numb and my body exhausted beyond understanding. I was passed from wagon to wagon constantly on the move, eating and drinking whatever food was given to me and sleeping in the wagons. The only break I got was when I needed to relieve myself. It seemed I would never reach the North, but for the fact that total strangers, nameless friends who
